Diary 14

"Sensing I lost my fountain of wealth, he vanished as quickly as the wind. And to think," he raised his head in anger and despair, "To think I didn’t sleep with him because he said his love for me was sacred and virginal."

I could not contain my laughter. "Is there such thing as sacred and virginal love?" I used to idolize this gay. Well, heroes fall from their pedestals too.

He was still despairing. "It sounded so romantic that I bought it. I suppressed my suspicions to show him how love could succumb to even the most ridiculous lies."

The more I laughed.

"At least you know how to be betrayed now Carla."

He frowned and flashed his moistened eyes at me. "Tut, do you think I’d take everything in stride? Antonio, you know I am a fighter. I won’t let him get away scot-free. I will be his greatest nightmare; I will make him suffer even if it takes me to hire goons and killers. No way will my suffering pass by without revenge."

Carlos was simply Carlos. He was loved because people get away with so many things with him. I did not think he meant his threat seriously. He looked at his watch.

"Oh my goodness, it is ten thirty. Sam must be waiting now."

See?....

Though it sounded ridiculous, I sort of expected this. I knew him very well.

"Who is Sam Carla?"

"My new lover," he answered smilingly.

"So you’re completely done with Ed? Remember Ed, the one you’d kill? The one you had just been wailing about? The one we had just been talking about? The one who..."

"Actually, he has had enough punishment Antonio. He now lives with a fucking transvestite."

I was smiling at all this, sometimes sighing, sometimes shrugging my shoulders, but most of the time shaking my head in envy. It is so easy for him. I damn wanted to be like him.

"This is all I can say to you Antonio, grow up. Remember you live with people who play their own unique versions of games in Philippine life. You belong to us. Once you’re here there’s no way of getting out. Rid yourself of thoughts about quitting hustling and getting immersed in this stupid mystery. I am the queen of Sheba, remember? Don’t be carried away by this Roberto bullshit. I warn you, you might wake up one day crazy. He tapped my shoulder, "Bye."

Being left alone again, I tried to continue my personal letter to Roberto Policarpio but I lost my train of thought. I looked around me, nothing was new.

Same people roam the same avenues and corners. We all know each other by now, like a family. The only difference is this strange feeling surging inside me. Three years ago, when I was naive and young and new to Manila, there was beauty in the things I saw, I was free.

Not anymore. I am depressed.

I remained sitting a few more minutes. I remembered my thesis. If Artemio only knew how much time I am wasting in this little corner, he would drop me out of our thesis partnership.

My eyes got attracted at the far end of the Rizal monument. I saw a very familiar walk, a familiar outfit, familiar shoes. As he turned left to follow the road leading to Luneta Grandstand, I recognized a face that made me jump to my feet.

It was Roberto Policarpio.

Should I get used to this hallucination?

He climbed atop the seawall. He stopped moving. The movie screen in my visions came back. The Bay was empty except Roberto. He watched the departing sunset and ascending night. He was surrounded by gray horizon, blown by gentle winds that created strong waves crashing, breaking at the seawall. He spoke:

How lovely it is to be alone in this city. Look at the dark sky, the sea, feel the breeze.

The coconut trees swayed, I heard the soft rustling of their leafs. I stayed behind and did not wink even once, wishing this view would never end.

Lets freeze this view forever. Lets have this separate peace. Manila, leave us alone.

Slowly, his head turned around, his face was dark. He waved at me and bid me to come closer.

"Ooops," I heard a strange voice. The whole vision stopped.

"Sorry," said the jogger who bumped me.

Roberto Policarpio was gone when I looked at his direction again.

By the time I dialed the ninetieth telephone number bearing the last name Te, I was already on the verge of committing hara-kiri. This must be it, I’d never said hello to so many Chinese in my entire life.

I turned out that Arnie Te’ real name was Ze Neih Tai Te who in the seventies left a lucrative journalism career and shifted to commercial photography. A sought-after model’s photographer, he was the city’s most expensive, and if you'd believe the gossip circulating around, the greatest pimp of stars. When his photography studio was first conceived, and no specific sponsor was to be found, he brought in top Manila models into the house of Assembly man Agan, took pictures of the unsuspecting Assembly man in uncompromising situations with the lady models and threatened to publish these in the daily tabloid. The Assembly man died of a massive heart attack.

Undaunted, Arnie Te blackmailed Agan’s widow who, out of fear of ruining the family’s name, provided the funds for Te’s studio. In its inauguration, he installed secret cameras in the bathrooms, all the socialites of Manila were caught unaware in their most private moments. It became a sensational scandal at Kapihan sa Maymla. Two political sides emerged. The protagonists hailed Arnie Te as a genius. The antagonists accused him of blackmailing and invading the privacy of people. His response? He exhibited Manila's rich and famous in their most indecent exposures. Unaware.

After his exhibit, a lot of the elite vanished from the society as the Manila residents reveled in their scandalous pictures. Regardless, no hand was able to touch Arnie Te, for he accumulated vast medical, legal, business, political connections through the years. There were at least ten assassination attempts in his life, making him inaccessible to public. His only weakness were male GIB models.

"Arte Photography, how may I help you." It was a sweet girl’s voice.

"Please," I answered, organizing my thoughts. "My name is Antonio Salamanca, a student working on my undergrad thesis. Is there any way I can reach Mr Te?"

I heard that if there was anything Mr Te would not miss it was the press. He just loved being interviewed about his bull shit fashion and artsy ideas that made sense only to him.

"Why would you want to reach him, Sir?" the girl inquired.

"Fashion modeling. I am particularly interested about previous models, where they are, and what they are doing now.

"I see," she said. "Please hold." This girl sounded beautiful. I wondered if Mr Te would consider me his model. That would be fun. I’d like to work for people who knew how to fuck the world.

It took me another minute or two to hear the line again. "Aaah, hello. Arte Photo," it was a low voice.

Holy cow! Arnie Te on the phone!

"Sir, my name is..." The line clicked followed by classical music. The voice of the girl came back.

"Oh sorry, is this Antonio? Antonio, I’m sorry to make you wait but Mr Te has lots of meetings to attend and at this point, it will be difficult for him to talk with you."

What did the faggot hear in my voice? Is it my accent?

"Well, it is really important. Can he schedule me sometime, is that possible... Miss?" I faked my plea, deep inside I was screaming. Fuck the blackmailing faggot!

"I am really sorry," she answered. I was about to hang up.

"Ah wait," she interrupted me. "If your research is really that important, why don’t you attend the Pipo fashion show tomorrow night? He will be there. I’ll remind him."

There were still angels in this world. I wanted to marry her right there.

Alex Maskara